


Not Quickly Broken

by littlehollyleaf



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Drama, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-18
Updated: 2011-06-18
Packaged: 2018-09-15 15:25:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9241502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlehollyleaf/pseuds/littlehollyleaf
Summary: Post-6.22. Because Dean doesn't give up on family. And Castiel deserves to be saved.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Ecclesiastes. Because I love using the bible for irreverant, literary purposes ;) Ecclesiastes 4:9-12 "Two are better than one; because they have a good reward for their labour. For if they fall, the one will lift up his fellow: but woe to him that is alone when he falleth; for he hath not another to help him up. Again, if two lie together, then they have heat: but how can one be warm alone? And if one prevail against him, two shall withstand him; and a threefold cord is not quickly broken."

**Not Quickly Broken**

 

"Cas, grab my hand!"

The rush of wind is so strong, whipping Dean's hair and making the collar of his jacket flap like so many wings, he's scared the words won't carry. And their former guardian angel is hanging too precariously to hold much longer, saved, quite literally, by a thread, the cuff of that stupid trenchcoat caught on a splinter of broken wood that used to be the floor, or maybe the ceiling, or a staircase. Who the fuck knows anymore? The whole place turned into a bad trip as soon as they finished Bobby's spell and all those souls went spiralling out of Cas and into the black, lightening-filled vortex below, threatening to suck the house, street and deposed god down with it.

They knew it was coming, of course. Assuming Bobby's info was good, and being left by the single Purgatory native there's ever been in this world the chances were high, he and Sam _knew_ there was nothing to do but speak the Purgatorian (Purgatorese?) and high tail it outta there before all hell (or, rather, limbo) broke loose.

But Cas caught on to them before they were done. Omniscience is a real bitch that way. He'd found them chanting outside his latest place of worship, seen the empty streets and abandoned homes from the ad hoc evacuation they'd effected (it was a small town - shouting 'bomb!' and acting vaguely authoritative had been enough to get the people moving) and he'd looked Dean straight in the eye and... done nothing. Just stood there watching.

Waiting.

And when they finished, in the quiet before the storm, that moment when Cas glowed gold but before the souls tore their way out of him, Dean swears there was _thanks_ in those eyes. Darkened navy that has been nothing but cold these last few months fading to the clear sky blue Dean remembers and latching onto him like Cas always used to. Like Dean's missed more than he could ever have imagined he would, as deep and gut-wrenching as all the times Sam's been snatched from him, as black and haunting as the absence of Dad and as bright and sharp as the loss of his mom.

So when the world turned psychedelic, house collapsing in on itself like that story by Whatever Poe that chick who'd told Dean about Vonnegut had read to him that time, and taking Cas with it, it didn't matter how loud Sam shouted at him not to (and it had been _loud_ to be heard over the sudden tempest) Dean had rushed into the madness regardless, yelling over his shoulder. "Get out of here!" he thinks, but it could just as well have been "goodbye."

Hence him lying on his stomach, screaming into a black hole that's five seconds, or less, from swallowing Cas up. He has one hand gripping a metal pole of some kind (lamppost maybe?) buried in the mass of wood and earth behind him to stop himself being dragged down as well, his other arm reaching desperately across an awkward lump of melted (mangled? mutated?) floorboards, fingertips _just out of reach_.

"Cas!" he yells again, trying to divert the guy's wide-eyed attention from the writhing darkness beneath him.

Dean doesn't know if it's his voice or sheer dumb luck, but Cas turns his head and Dean's so grateful he could cry. Maybe he is. It's hard to tell when there's water in the wind too, stinging his face with every twist and turn.

The look Cas gives him pierces something deep inside Dean too. It's the way his pupils expand so _fast,_ the shock all-encompassing, like Dean's the _last_ person he's expecting. The way his lips part, then still, expression frozen. All of him _open_ in way Castiel has never, ever, lost control enough to allow, not as angel, human, junkie _or_ god.

What hurts most though, isn't seeing Cas laid bare - that's been a long time coming, something both of them should have manned up to a long time ago - it's that the emotion that stays after everything is _fear_. Not of the black beyond, but of _Dean_ and his judgement. Like that _matters_.

Like it's in any doubt.

"Grab my hand!" Dean shouts again, trying in vain to stretch out further.

Slowly, so _painfully_ slowly, like the destruction around them isn't there, like they've got all the time in the world when they've got _no fucking time at all_ , Castiel blinks and looks to Dean's tense and splayed out fingers. He tilts his head, actually _tilts his head_ , as he examines them, even as the rest of him sways above the hole, tie and the chord of his coat thrashing about as the force of the thing continues its pull.

Then he looks up, eyes deep and sad and wet, his other arm, the one that isn't caught, the one Dean's reaching for, just _hanging_ there at his side, and he says -

"Let me go, Dean."

For a second Dean can't breathe.

Then a wild fury takes him over.

"No! Cas, don't be a fucking idiot, _take my hand!_ "

But Cas shakes his head, a smile at his lips that doesn't meet his eyes - a smile Dean remembers, from the future. Cas giving up, not just on the world but on _himself_.

_You don't think you deserve to be saved._

"No!" Dean shouts again. "Don't you do this, Cas! _You don't get to do this!_ You don't get to take the easy way out, do you hear me?"

"It's for the best," Cas cries back, but Dean can see the first inkling of doubt creeping black across his brow, confusion at Dean's persistence. "Leave, Dean. Save yourself."

Now it's Dean's turn to shake his head. He has to strain against the wind to do it, but he does.

"I'm not going anywhere! Not without you..."

That gets through, covering Cas' face in sharp lines. He even jerks back a bit in his uncertainty, making Dean's heart stop and start in erratic jolts because he can see tan fabric tearing that much more.

"Why?" Cas calls, not critical, not leading the issue, just asking. Frank and honest. Honest in a way Dean thinks they've probably never been, have they? Should have been though. "Dean, what I've done -"

"I don't care!" Dean yells back, meeting like with like. They don't have _time_ for anything but the raw truth anymore. "I don't care what you've done, Cas. We'll deal with it! That's what family _does_. We stand by each other. No matter what." The wind changes, buffeting Dean's head to the side. He has to close his eyes against the onslaught, but doesn't let it keep him from Cas for long, blinking back to the angel's (former angel's? human's?) waiting gaze. "Maybe we haven't done right by each other like we should have. Maybe _I_ haven't. But we _can_.It's not too late, Cas! Just..." He chokes. "Just take my hand... _please_..."

Cas looks at and into him, lines of pain on his face, confusion and distrust, melting away to something like the desperation Dean himself feels. And Dean tries to put everything he has into that gaze - need, hope, apology. Love. Because this is his last chance and he knows it - the tear in that trenchcoat's worn too thin. If he can't convince Cas now, prove he's worth fighting for, then he'll lose him forever.

The wait's excruciating. Every bit as bad as watching Sam holding on the edge of the Pit. Hoping against hope.

There'd been no way to help his brother then. But this time... this time there's a chance... please, god, let there be...

Even over the roar Dean hears the final rip as fabric frays away, but it doesn't matter. All that matters is the way Castiel's fingers grip tight round his arm, his own clamping hard round damp tan, circling a wrist that feels impossibly sleight and fragile amidst the raging elements around them.

"Hold on..." he grits through clenched teeth, crying out as he pulls, using his grip on the pole as leverage to drag Cas up.

It's like a tug of war with a freight train, all of Purgatory working against him. But at least _Cas_ is with him now, swinging the arm that's fallen, loose threads dropping off the cuff like falling feathers, as he tries to grip the ragged edge for himself.

He can't quite make it, but Dean's moving him up, inch by agonising inch. Just a little more -

The pole Dean's gripping bends over, metal screeching and shuddering in his hands, and both Dean and Cas drop down a way.

Cas gasps, fingers curling tighter round Dean, nails biting through his jacket, while Dean twists his head.

It's not as bad as he feared. It's worse. The pole isn't just bent, the lower half is now protruding from the ground (wall? ceiling?) a little way back. Any second now it's gonna unearth itself and it, Dean and Cas are gonna be tumbling over the edge together.

Dean takes a breath and turns back, finding Cas again. He opens his mouth, ready to - what? Bitch? Explain? Lie? But Cas gets there first.

"I'm sorry," he says, voice scratchy and trembling, but cutting firm through the devastation.

Dean nods.

"Me too, Cas."

There's a final metallic groan. Dean feels the pole lurch, feels himself skidding down. Then feels a hand twisting sure and strong between his shoulder blades, a large and steadying presence at his side.

"Gotcha!" Sam's saying, crouching beside Dean and somehow taking his and Castiel's weight together, as well as withstanding the constant pull of the whirlwind below. Dean makes a silent oath never to begrudge his kid brother for growing up buffer than him ever again.

He means to say 'thank you,' but what he yells instead is -

"Damn it, Sam. I told you to get out of here!"

Sam just laughs, hysterical and kind of strained, as he works on pulling Dean back by the collar of his jacket.

"You're my brother, Dean," he pants. "But you're not the boss of me."

He grins as he pulls and despite everything, Dean's chest fills with warmth - pride and elation. He grins back.

There's another gust of wind and Sam's boots skid, flecks of wood breaking apart beneath them. His expression changes to one of concentration and he drops to one knee, reaching his free hand over the edge.

"Cas! Gimme your other arm!"

Cas hesitates and Dean can read the regret in his eyes like a neon sign, can see him searching for the right words, for a way to apologise, to voice his guilt over botched resurrections and broken walls.

Sam doesn't give him the chance.

"We'll talk later, man! Come on..."

He shakes his open hand - inviting. Beseeching.

Cas swallows his guilt and slams his palm into Sam's.

Between the two of them, Dean and Sam manage to haul Cas up in a matter of seconds and then the three of them are running and stumbling together, half leading, half dragging each other out of the madhouse, across the street and into the park beyond.

They drop, exhausted, onto the gravel just as a loud sucking sound fills the air, like the last dregs of water down a plughole only _deafening_ and _everywhere_.

Then nothing.

After what feels like eternity Dean hears harsh, ragged breath and realises it's his own. He twists round so he's sitting up, finds Cas beside him and Sam after that, and further on nothing but empty space. Just stretch after stretch of flat, featureless land, save for the odd patch of grass or tarmac. The vortex is gone. Sealed.

Next to them, a couple of swings rock gently in the dying breeze.

A bird cheeps in the distance.

Cas lets loose a shuddering breath and Dean rests a comforting hand on his shoulder. Sam does the same, patting Cas' other side, before reaching across and gripping Dean, making sure he's still whole. They catch each other's eye and smile, weary but triumphant. Another crisis averted, in infamous, Hail Mary, Winchester style.

There's a shiver between them as Cas glances, uncertain, from one brother to the other. Lingering on Dean.

They've plenty to say. So very much. But _later_.

For now, Dean just squeezes Cas' shoulder and smiles, while Sam keeps hold of both of them with one gigantic arm and does the same. Cas sags into the embrace, lips flicking upwards, ever so softly.

Even as they settle, though, taking comfort in the quiet, Dean knows they're far from done.

The immediate danger might be over, but they've got a long way to go to make things right. There'll be talking and shouting and (this one makes him cringe to think about) _feelings_. Crying too... Maybe. From Sam and Cas, of course.

It won't be easy. And that's without even thinking about all the monsters still out there, old _and_ new, that need fighting.

But if they can make it this far, _together,_ then they'll get through what's to come, Dean's sure of it.

They're family, after all.

 

~ **fin** ~


End file.
